The Precious Things
by Lysi
Summary: Sometimes, in the indistinct dusk, where all the worlds meet, he can't remember where he is.  Or, rather, he is everywhere.  Oneshot, OoT/TP.


These are the things that he loves.

Beautiful worlds tumble through his subconscious, flickering in and out of his dreams. A Hyrule that is and isn't his home; the sweet voices of forest children, the echoing beat of wings over a dragon's roost. A tiny bell ringing beside his ear, irritated, but affectionate.

Sometimes, in the indistinct dusk, where all the worlds meet, he can't remember where he is. Or, rather, he is everywhere. He is in the fields of a world doomed by a falling moon, a world that has changed so much in seven short years, a world with a dark counterpart shimmering just below its surface, a world that maybe was nothing more than a fever dream. In every life there has been a moment just like this. The sweet smell of grass is always the same.

He always feels a rush of affection for his companions that is immediate and never wanes. Even as he opened his eyes, realizing his body was now wooden and contorted, feeling the dead Deku boy's consciousness pushing against his own; he saw an impatient yellow ball of light and felt a little flutter of joy deep in his chest. Even when he awoke as a dark beast, chained and alone in the dungeons below Hyrule Castle, and heard a mocking cackle float towards him.

Sometimes he feels he can pinpoint where this affection started.

He was small, very small, he thinks. There was a fairy; the first of all the fairies he remembers. He's certain of this. He waited for her for such a long time, so it was no surprise that when she finally arrived, he was already hers for life. When she left, he followed. He found other fairies, and imps, and once even a boat. In that world, he rested his hands on painted red wood flecked with sea spray, and felt a deep ache. Even then, with Hyrule entombed under the waves, he missed her.

His companions never do stay long. Once the inexorable pull of adventure is gone, they scatter to the winds. After the first, he never looked for any of them, although the tug in his chest is ever-present. He knows Midna, too, will leave eventually. He doesn't want her to. He knows it doesn't matter.

He wonders if the first fairy grew old and died, and realizes with a start that he really doesn't know anything about fairy lifespans. Once, his…ancestor? Past self? Once, a vague and pervasive memory-version of himself saw briefly past the ball of light surrounding her. Her tiny face was young, but there were distinct crow's feet framing her eyes. The sight has stayed with him across centuries and dimensions.

There are other things from other lives that he can never shake; once, when he and Ilia dangled their feet in the cool stream, he glanced at her and was struck by a strange thought – _wasn't her hair red before?_ He'd shaken his head to clear it – no, she'd always been blonde – but that night his dreams were filled with red-haired girls, a song drifting on the wind, the _twang_ of an arrow being let loose, the clicking of carriage wheels on a familiar delivery route. Whispered legends of a whale and the scent of an ocean breeze.

Later, after he'd donned the green tunic and begun his adventure, there was a moment that hit him with such ferocity that he couldn't help it; he leaned against a tree and wept. Midna watched in slack-jawed silence as the tears rolled freely down his grimy cheeks. They were in a lost forest. A song was echoing, from somewhere; it made him so happy it hurt. The air was cool and felt like home.

"Saria," he'd sobbed.

"Um…there there," Midna finally said, awkwardly patting his shoulder. "Link, you're scaring me. What's a Saria?"

He took a deep breath and rested his cheek against the tree's twisted bark. The roughness of it was grounding and comforting. "I don't know," he replied. A last shudder coursed through his shoulders, sending one more tear trickling off the end of his nose. They continued through the forest in silence.

The little dancing creature that soon appeared triggered that tugging feeling in his chest. For Midna's sake, he shrugged it off and followed the dancing imp doggedly, loosing arrows that didn't seem to do more than startle it into fits of raucous laughter. Suddenly it looked up at him with gleeful eyes, and the wrenching feeling welled up again, stronger than ever.

"Thanks. That was fun," it giggled in an achingly familiar voice. "Let's play again soon!"

"Wait!" He broke into a full-on sprint. "Wait!" He followed it as it somersaulted from tree to tree, and long after he'd lost sight of it. He had slowed and stopped, then stood there and listened to its piping song floating through the trees.

These are the precious, raw, incredible, impossible things that he loves. They flash before his eyes in this final leap; the little dancing imp, the flash of a fairy's wing, memories of the beautiful worlds he will do anything to protect. Time has slowed down, perhaps due to the adrenaline coursing through him; his gaze flicks to Princess Zelda, watching with fierce and wild eyes, and then down to the last piece of their twisted trinity. Ganondorf's expression is not that of a man about to be dealt a mortal blow. Even as the Master Sword pierces his armour and drives deep into his belly, Ganondorf's face is arrogant and victorious. Even as the Triforce of Power fades from his hand, even as he hits the earth with a resounding thump.

These are the things he loves and the things that cause a piercingly sad ache just behind his lungs. The Princess of Hyrule standing across from him, the hem of her dress caked in mud and her hair whipping out of its braid, yet still the most regal thing he has ever seen. The fleeting and beautiful Twilight Princess that Midna turns out to be, a stark and feral contrast to Zelda.

These are the things he loves; Hyrule Field, in the aftermath of the final battle. Grass and bushes grow determinedly, as if trying to patch over the burn marks and heal the dead scars as quickly as they can. Every time he wonders if his will be the last Hyrule. Part of him hopes that he will be the last Link, because that would mean that the holy triangle has finally been laid to rest. However, part of him will always be searching; searching for Hyrule, and Zelda, even Ganondorf, and most especially –

for that cherished first companion, or her soul in another body he has yet to meet.


End file.
